Philadelphia'sStory

Poe in Roxborough

This is a section from Edgar Allen Poe's "Elk" AKA "Morning on the
Wissahickon", first published in The Opal in 1844.

"...River scenery has, unquestionably, within itself, all the main elements of
beauty, and, time out of mind, has been the favourite theme of the poet. But
much of this fame is attributable to the predominance of travel in fluvial
over that in mountainous districts. In the same way, large rivers, because
usually highways, have, in all countries, absorbed an undue share of
admiration. They are more observed, and, consequently, made more the subject
of discourse, than less important, but often more interesting streams.
A singular exemplification of my remarks upon this head may be found in the
Wissahiccon, a brook (for more it can scarcely be called) which empties
itself into the Schuylkill, about six miles west of Philadelphia. Now, the
Wissahiccon is of so remarkable a loveliness, that, were it flowing in
England, it would be the theme of every bard, and the common topic of every
tongue, if, indeed, its banks were not parcelled off in lots, at an
exorbitant price, as building-sites for the villas of the opulent. Yet it is
only within a very few years that any one has more than heard of the
Wissahiccon, while the broader and more navigable water into which it flows,
has been long celebrated as one of the finest specimens of American
river-scenery. The Schuylkill, whose beauties have been much exaggerated, and
whose banks, at least in the neighbourhood of Philadelphia, are marshy, like
those of the Delaware, is not at all comparable, as an object of picturesque
interest, with the more humble and less notorious rivulet of which we speak.
It was not until Fanny Kemble, in her droll book about the United States,
pointed out to the Philadelphians the rare loveliness of a stream which lay
at their own doors, that this loveliness was more than suspected by a few
adventurous pedestrians of the vicinity. But, the Journal having opened all
eyes, the Wissahiccon, to a certain extent, rolled at once into notoriety. I
say 'to a certain extent', for, in fact, the true beauty of the stream lies
far above the route of the Philadelphian picturesque-hunters, who rarely
proceed farther than a mile or two above the mouth of the rivulet - for the
very excellent reason that here the carriage-road stops. I would advise the
adventurer who would behold its finest points to take the Ridge Road, running
westwardly from the city, and, having reached the second lane beyond the
sixth milestone, to follow this lane to its termination. He will thus strike
the Wissahiccon, at one of its best reaches, and, in a skiff, or by
clambering along its banks, he can go up or down the stream, as best suits
his fancy, and in either direction will meet his reward.

I have already said, or should have said, that the brook is narrow. Its banks
are generally, indeed almost universally, precipitous, and consist of high
hills, clothed with noble shrubbery near the water, and crowned, at a greater
elevation, with some of the most magnificent forest-trees of America, among
which stands conspicuous the Liriodendron Tulipifera. The immediate shores,
however, are of granite, sharply defined or moss-covered, against which the
pellucid water lolls in its gentle flow, as the blue waves of the
Mediterranean upon the steps of her palaces of marble. Occasionally in front
of the cliffs, extends a small definite plateau of richly-herbaged land,
affording the most picturesque position for a cottage and garden which the
richest imagination could conceive. The windings of the stream are many and
abrupt, as is usually the case where banks are precipitous, and thus the
impression conveyed to the voyager's eye, as he proceeds, is that of an
endless succession of infinitely varied small lakes, or, more properly
speaking, tarns. The Wissahiccon, however, should be visited, not like 'fair
Melrose', by moonlight, or even in cloudy weather, but amid the brightest
glare of a noonday sun; for the narrowness of the gorge through which it
flows, the height of the hills on either hand, and the density of the
foliage, conspire to produce a gloominess, if not an absolute dreariness, of
effect, which, unless relieved by a bright, general light, detracts from the
mere beauty of the scene.

Not long ago, I visited the stream by the route described, and spent the
better part of a sultry day in floating in a skiff upon its bosom. The heat
gradually overcame me; and, resigning myself to the influence of the scenes
and of the weather, and of the gently-moving current, I sank into a
half-slumber, during which my imagination revelled in visions of the
Wissahiccon of ancient days - of the 'good old days' when the Demon of the
Engine was not, when picnics were undreamed of, when 'water privileges' were
neither bought nor sold, and when the red man trod alone, with the elk, upon
the ridges that now towered above. And, while gradually these conceits took
possession of my mind, the lazy brook had borne me, inch by inch, around one
promontory and within full view of another that bounded the prospect at the
distance of forty or fifty yards. It was a steep rocky cliff, abutting far
into the stream, and presenting much more of the Salvator character than any
portion of the shore hitherto passed. What I saw upon this cliff, although
surely an object of very extraordinary nature, the place and season
considered, at first neither startled nor amazed me - so thoroughly and
appropriately did it chime in with the half-slumberous fancies that enwrapped
me. I saw, or dreamed that I saw, standing upon the extreme verge of the
precipice, with neck outstretched, with ears erect, and the whole attitude
indicative of profound and melancholy inquisitiveness, one of the oldest and
boldest of those identical elks which had been coupled with the red men of my
vision.

I say that, for a few moments, this apparition neither startled nor amazed
me. During this interval my whole soul was bound up in intense sympathy
alone. I fancied the elk repining, not less than wondering, at the manifest
alterations for the worse, wrought upon the brook and its vicinage, even
within the last few years, by the stern hand of the utilitarian. But a slight
movement of the animal's head at once dispelled the dreaminess which invested
me, and aroused me to a full sense of novelty of the adventure. I arose upon
one knee within the skiff, and, while I hesitated whether to stop my career,
or let myself float nearer to the object of my wonder, I heard the words
"Hist! hist!" ejaculated quickly, but cautiously, from the shrubbery
overhead. In an instant afterwards, a negro emerged from the thicket, putting
aside the bushes with care, and treading stealthily. He bore in one hand a
quantity of salt, and, holding it towards the elk, gently but steadily
approached. The noble animal, although a little fluttered, made no attempt at
escape. The negro advanced, offered the salt, and spoke a few words of
encouragement or conciliation. Presently the elk bowed and stamped, and then
lay quietly down, and was secured with a halter.

Thus ended my romance of the elk. It was a pet of great age and very domestic
habits, and belonged to an English family occupying a villa in the vicinity."